


Metal-Bound, His Heart Beats Still

by Thedupshadove



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Angst, But it's not exactly what you'd call high romance, Character Study, Just read it: you'll see, Or intense burning passion for that metter, Other, Sexual Content, There's a scene that's...sort of Brian/Raph?, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedupshadove/pseuds/Thedupshadove
Summary: His...unique approach to moral philosophy isn't theonlything Brian owes to Carmilla's sense of humor.(Brought to you by me wondering how Brian's sense of touch works)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Metal-Bound, His Heart Beats Still

His...unique approach to moral philosophy isn’t the _only_ thing Brian owes to Carmilla’s sense of humor. 

She was also confronted with the question of how much of a human’s drives and appetites she should leave him with. He no longer sleeps, for example, and nor does he crave to. He no longer needs food, but can take it, after a fashion, and even enjoy it in a somewhat limited sense. (Just don’t ask about the method of waste disposal. No really, don’t.)

But it was in the area of sex, and human contact more generally, where inspiration truly struck. Perhaps as a tribute to his intact human heart encased in a metal shell, she left him fully capable of desiring such things, but unable to truly experience them. 

That is, he can feel the gnawing ache inside him, the prickly chill of soul-deep loneliness that craves for a simple touch, an embrace, the feel of a hand on his shoulder. But though he lives surrounded by loved ones, by _family_ from whom he could seek such contact (Marius, at least, is likely to oblige), it doesn’t help. Not truly. He can know that someone is touching him, can sense it in a way that’s difficult to explain to more organic beings, but to know and to sense is not the same as to _feel_. And no matter how tightly Marius hugs him, how much genuine warmth Tim puts into a slap on the back, how sincere Nastya is when she places a hand on his, he cannot truly feel any of it. He seeks it out anyway, of course, compelled by drives as fully intact as their methods of relief are dead, but there’s no getting around the fact that he doesn’t have nerve endings anymore. 

Now that he comes to think of it, he doesn’t have hormones anymore either. So perhaps he might be forgiven for hoping that he would be freed from certain...other impossible cravings. But alas. Perhaps some of this is his own fault, tormenting himself with memories of sweet kisses and eager touches and hot, slick pleasure. But no, some of it is definitely down to Carmilla’s handiwork. When he finds himself abuzz with tension, with _wanting_ that he knows he can’t fulfill. When the images just _won’t_ leave his mind. 

He actually explained all this to Raphaella once, when her keen observer’s eye led her to notice that he was more distracted and a little more irritable than was normal, and her insatiable scientific mind led her to keep pestering him for an explanation until he caved in and gave her one. She cocked her head to one side for a moment, lost in thought, then said in a somewhat distant voice, “Will you trust me?”

Now, normally, saying yes when Raphaella asks that question was a _very_ stupid idea, but the unquenchable want was particularly bad that day, and he was desperate enough to agree to be led into her lab and laid down on a table. She removed a panel on the side of his neck, revealing the wires and ports underneath. Then she went to the corner of the room and brought back what looked like some kind of generator, with various wires and cables sticking off of it. She selected one, ending in an alligator clip, and held it up. 

“Let me know if this feels bad”, was all she said, before attaching it to one of the exposed wires and turning a knob on the generator. 

It certainly didn’t feel bad. It was...something, alright. Again, difficult to put into organic terms, save for the fact that he could feel the electricity all through his body, and something deep within him began to chant “ _Good, Good, Yes, Reward, Yes, YesGoodReward_ ”. Before too long, however, that feeling diminished, and the continued electricity produced little more than a quiet hum, so he told Raphaella to stop. 

“Did it help?” she had asked.

“Yes. Yes it...it did.”

She smiled. “Wonderful! Then you can keep the generator; I’ve got loads of them.”

So from then on he’s used it with some frequency. It helps. Provides temporary relief. Takes the edge off. He’s even learned to prolong the experience by starting the flow small and building up. But it’s not the same as the genuine connection, however fleeting, that can come from a sexual encounter. Even that first time, when the sensation was being administered by somebody else, it was still little more than glorified masturbation. 

And the truly damnable thing is, just like with more mundane contact, he isn’t without opportunities to get it, even as he can’t enjoy it. 

They’ve all gathered around a campfire in some tiny little settlement on some backwater planet. A place so devoid of edifice that even Jonny agreed that playing a set for the entertainment-starved population was _much_ more fun than any potential destruction would have been. And it’s as this tiny group (less than fifty even with the crew added) relaxes in the firelight that he sees them gradually drawing closer to him. 

Their black hair waves gently down to their shoulders, their purple eyes sparkle in the light, and the red fabric of what must be their best robe rustles in the most intriguing way. They smile at him, just a little bit shy, and then they lean in and say that their hut isn’t far away (of course it isn’t. Nothing in this place is.) and would he like to see it. 

He shouldn’t say yes. It’s pointless to say yes. But something about they way their lips move when they talk is mesmerizing. Makes him want to reach out, pull them close, bury himself…

And, just like when Marius spreads out his arms and cries “Come here!”, Brian forgets. 

They take him by the hand, and as soon as they clear the hut door, they’re on him, kissing him with a passion. He can tell that their hands are soft as they wind through his copper-wire hair. He can sense that their body is warm as they press eagerly against him. He notices how they’re surprised by the unyeildingness of his own form, but seem more than willing to work with it. He detects all of these things. But still, he _feels_ nothing. 

He stays for a while anyway. Kisses. Caresses. Shows them a good time. There’s a degree of satisfaction in watching them write and moan, body wracked with the bliss he is no longer able to find. He manages, somehow, to distract them from the fact that he is receiving very little attention in return. Once he’s felt their climax subside he stays for a little bit longer, planting light kisses all along their neck, waiting for them to come down. Then he makes his excuse that his crew will likely want to be leaving soon, and he shouldn’t hold them up. They look a bit regretful, but then, they had to have basically known that this would happen. So they give him one last kiss and a fond smile before he turns and walks out the door. Slipping as quietly as he can back down beside the fire, he does his best to ignore Marius’ comically congratulatory wink. 

Later on, back in his room, he hooks himself up to the generator again. Tries to hold the memory of their lithe and supple form in his mind as he slowly dials the voltage up. Hoping that maybe focusing on such an image will make this feel a little more like the real thing.

It doesn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone Else: Writing fascinating philosophical meditations about the implications of the morality switch  
> Me: But How Does Sex Though?


End file.
